Verite (or the existential crisis of being a second generation migrant)

The dark empty holes stare back at me
“You are my friend,brother”
Come join me beyond this silver lining
Reflecting on your facade
Home in disconsolation
Warm in the radiance of my ambience
As budding arms reach out from that surface
wiry andĀ infantile then organic and fragile
But soon turn to stone
Locked in and critique proof
But still i look to my Zion for answers
With tears that might yet soften those bonds
As I whisper the only truths that I believe
“I am your only friend”
Let go so we may live as one in our new home!

There is no truth.only people who agree with you.
We have reached a collective recognition in our own society where we are perhaps ready to face the ambiguity of truth so much that even the conjecture that 1+1=2 can become a argument about self fulfilling definition vs solution to a question or equation.
In mathematics the ambiguity of such a conjecture is disguised as an “identity”.

When all logical extrapolations are self fulfilling closed loops and thus all robust conclusions that follow effectively become axioms in their own right and we remain none the wiser about the truth of their actual origin.

So the term “identity” is is what it is if you choose to believe the premise.

And who I am is anybody’s guess but ultimately all that matters is that I feel

Am I real?
Am I real?

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